Bloody Samara
by 25-faeranHeight
Summary: Samara is a child who gets abuse from her parents: mentally, physhically and emotionally. The village hates her and wants her gone but what if she starts hearing things... Disturbing things... 1st person based ... 3rd chapter updated.
1. O: Samara Morgan

**Bloody Samara**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Ring... But I own the video tape!

**Summary:** Samara was an only child... Her parents hated her and so many other people thought she was a monster. Then, she started hearing things... Disturbing things...

**yingOwari:** Sorry I was gone! I had things to catch up on, and I doubt my story Behind Blue Eyes will be finished soon – it was kind of rubbish anyway. Last night and during today I had a strange thought and believed I saw Samara coming out of the television. But then I thought, "Why did she need to kill everyone?"

Thinking about this and after reading SageoWind's story, I got a spark of inspiration. I am a big fan of Sageo's story 'Servants, Obey Thy Masters' and really hope to write like that one day. The idea was from Sageo and you can flame me if you wish. Ta!

Warning: This story may contain swearing and death-related scenes; if you do not like swearing or death-related scenes, please press the 'BACK' button on your window. Thank you - yingOwari.

Scenes may change from Samara's to normal point of view.

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**Prologue: Samara Morgan**

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It's happening again...

I can hear thunder clashes onto the ground. It isn't thunder though, it's just the horses that my father simply _adores_. Little does he know that his beloved pains-in-the-arses are causing such a racket.

He doesn't care. As I said, he adores them, loves them.

He doesn't love me.

So, I'm stuck here in this barn with these noisy beasts because my parents decided that I shouldn't live in the same house as them. He doesn't want to be seen with me, because I'm a freak.

I don't know how I'm a freak; but the villagers and my parents believe I am. They don't even know me, they don't know how I live, how I'm treated. They don't know if I'm even cared for.

Bloody nitwits don't even know that I'm being mistreated.

It's really noisy in this barn. Luckily, I'm not on the same flooring as those demented creatures from Hell; I have my own floor, up the ladder and near to the ceiling is where I live.

Where my fucking life continues.

I admit, the room definitely isn't fit for a princess, but I can't complain. At least I've got somewhere. What's in this room is a poorly made wooden chair, a bed, and my very own television.

My stupid pillok of a father actually thought about me and decided I wanted a television.

A television is the least of the things I would have asked for. But, it'll do. Until I get some money to buy myself some proper things, that is.

And how will I do that? I'll get a job.

Of course; the villagers, as I have mentioned before, have been warned about me and definitely would not give me a job even if their lives depended on it. Probably think I would spend the money on drugs.

Hah. I'm a known psycho in this village, the least they have to worry about is me buying drugs.

I look to my television set, it's been broken for some time now.

Did I mention my fucking bastard of a father forgot to fix it?

Well he did. Actually, he didn't exactly forget. He just didn't do it.

Plain and simple.

Maybe I should get myself a new pair of clothes and a wig to disguise myself; then I

could to go the village and get myself a job.

Oh, yeah. I forgot; my mother and father didn't let me have any new clothes. Just the same old dress over and over again.

And the chance of me getting a wig or something to sort my hair out from the house, or at least some new clothes, is a zero chance to one. My mother or father would catch me and punish me.

To your average child, punishment would probably mean something like no television or computerized games for a month, being grounded or a slap on the wrist, or a smack on the backside.

My parents, on the other hand, don't believe in those sorts of punishments.

They believe in full on; shutting the child away, or beating the child with a large stick or cane. That's what I get.

Since of all the times I've tried to sneak food or extra things from the house, I have managed only to get cuts and bruises all over my arms and legs. Some tears in my dress, too.

Though, the dress being torn is the least of my worries.

What I'm worrying about now is this television and the way it's behaving. Sure, it's broken and all broken televisions go fuzzy – but do they ever seem to talk? If you believe that's not normal; then my television is absolutely beyond the idea of being normal.

Most of the times all I can hear is mumbling and groaning of a sort; but on occasions I can hear voices... And sometimes... I can hear people screaming in pain and horror...


	2. I: The Voices

**Bloody Samara**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Ring... But I own the video tape!

**Summary:** Samara was an only child... Her parents hated her and so many other people thought she was a monster. Then, she started hearing things... Disturbing things...

**Warning:** However who is offended by the swear-words or death-related scenes that may follow should not read this story. I repeat that, over and over again. So please, no flames.

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**I: The Voices.**

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The fucking television is moaning at me again.

It's not actually, you know, moaning at me; it's just having those damned static screaming and shrieking noises, all over again.

Well then, Mister Television – or Miss – no-one pisses off Samara Morgan without regretting it, so you better shut the fuck up or else–

"**_Or else what?_**"

Huh? What the hell?

"**_You heard me, bitch – or else what?_**"

Holy shit! My television is talking to me!

"**_Hell yeah I am. So, or else what, Samara Morgan?_**"

Fuck! It knows my name! It's Super Television!

"**_No need for the fucking sarcasm, Samara._**"

Who said I was being sarcastic? Not every television knows my name, let alone talks.

"**_You will kill them, Samara, you'll make them pay._**"

What? Kill who? Make who pay?

"**_Them, Samara. Your parents, the world, everyone._**"

Wait – what was that?

"**_You'll kill them all and you'll enjoy it!_**"

Um, no. I don't want to get arrested, thank you.

"**_You won't get arrested. Nobody will know._**"

Uh, yeah. They will know if you kill a person in front of their damned faces.

"**_Do it discreetly..._**"

How the hell can you kill people discreetly? You have to be a really good damn mass murderer or psychopath.

"**_So, you're interested?_**"

No, not really. I would prefer to grow up as a normal damned child instead of the world's youngest psychopathical murderer.

"**_But you're already known as a psycho..._**"

So fucking what? Do you think I want people to double that thought? Nooo, I don't.

"**_They can't judge you if they're dead..._**"

That's a good point; but I still wouldn't kill for the sake of it.

"**_You're killing for revenge, not for no reason..._**"

Hah! Who said I was killing? Samara: 1. Television: 0!

"**_You will kill them..._**"

Says who?

"**_You will... You will..._**"

What if I decide not to?

"**_You will... Kill them..._**"

The fuzzing stops. The television isn't talking to me anymore. Wait, was it talking to me in the first place? Or was it just my imagination?

Great. Just what I need; to be known as the girl who talks to her damned television. Her broken television that makes screaming noises and commands her to kill people.

God, I must be losing it.

The television has been telling me to kill people for days now since that incident. Why the hell can't it just leave me alone?

I look to my arm, my pale long childish arm. Not many children my age have skin this pale. Jeez, I must be the only one. I look like a fucking ghost. No wonder I'm rumoured a freak in this Hellhole.

My eyes and hair look odd too; my eyes are a watery light blue while my hair is ebony black and reaches near my feet.

When was the last time I had a damned haircut?

Anyway, that's not what's important right now. What's important is the fact that I'm shit scared of my own television. A broken television.

Hah. Most children fear clowns and spiders; I fear a broken television. My broken television, to be exact.

So, I'm sitting in my wooden chair again, drawing some random things. Like an x-ray of a dead horse. How I wish it were real and that the picture was of those damned beasts who bother my sleep.

"**_You want them dead, don't you...?_**"

Who? The horses? Of course, who wouldn't? Lousy creatures.

"**_Wouldn't you make your father sad...?_**"

Who cares about him? He can jump off a cliff for all I care.

"**_Why don't you push him instead?_**"

Ohh. Sounds tempting, but no.

"**_Don't you hate him?_**"

Of course I hate him, but as I said before, I'm not a psychopath.

"**_It could be your revenge..._**"

Who cares about revenge? All that happens is that you get caught killing someone and go to jail. Or, if you succeed to kill someone without someone knowing, they'll find the body and you'll end up like them in the end, rotting to death like a corpse.

"**_No-one will ever know..._**"

Or will they? You never know until it's been done.

"**_You could become legendary and no-one would be able to stop you..._**"

How do you know that? Are you a psychic or something?

"**_They'll never know..._**"

Sometimes I wonder if I'd be the only one who hears the television talking if there was anyone else apart from me to listen. All though, the horses might hear it, but I doubt they can understand human.

I can hear my mother screaming. I would feel sorry for her if only I had the emotions to do so. Right now, I could care less about anything – all I can think about is wondering why the television is talking to me and me alone.

Perhaps I'm special?

God knows. But now I know the television has finally stopped messing with my head, so now I can continue doing what I'm doing before it interrupted me.

I look to my piece of paper, the drawing of the dead horse looking at me as though I had done something wrong.

Pft. Doing something wrong would involve actually killing the real stupid beast itself, not drawing a fake one's death.

No matter how fun it would be to kill the beasts anyway.

Wait a minute... Did I just say that?

Oh dear Lord, I am losing it.

What's going on? I can hear people screaming, but I can't see them. I can hear them shrieking for mercy, but mercy I cannot give for I do not even know where it is coming from.

That wrecked television is still taunting me, it's telling me to kill the horses. But I tell it no, no matter how tempting it is.

And then there's that image that flashes through my mind...

I can hear my father telling my mother how much it is my fault for her sudden madness strike. She has no idea what it's like. She's not the freak. She's just the poor mother who gave birth to one.

I twirl a lock of my ebony hair around a pale finger. It's strange, I can hear my father also saying about him preparing to send me to an insane unit if I cause any more 'trouble.'

Oh deary me, I am so scared! That was sarcasm if you didn't know.

It's been a few more days since my father threatened to send me to the insane unit. I haven't caused any more 'trouble' yet.

Soddy bastard he is, he deserves every last bit of trouble.

The television hasn't talked to me yet, thank God.

"**_You want them dead, don't you...?_**"

Oh fuck, spoke too soon.

"**_Kill them... Kill them..._**"

Uhhhh...

"**_You want them dead, don't you, Samara?_**"

How am I supposed to know? This fucker of a television keeps talking to me, or I least I think it is. Maybe I am insane, you never know.

"**_You're not the insane one, they are..._**"

Damn straight, they are.

"**_You want to prove your sanity, don't you?_**"

Uh, well, nothing will persuade them that I'm a good child.

"**_Then kill them... Kill those who dare to annoy you..._**"

Isn't that against the law?

"**_We discussed this matter all ready, they will never know..._**"

And I all ready told you before; no.

"**_Your father hates you..._**"

He can shove it for all I care.

"**_The horses hate you..._**"

Well, I didn't need you to inform for me to know that.

"**_Your mother hates you..._**"

No she doesn't! Mother loves me! Father is the one to blame!

"**_She wants you gone..._**"

She doesn't! She doesn't!

"**_They're going to take you away..._**"

No! Mother won't let them! She won't! She won't!

"**_You drove her crazy..._**"

I didn't! I swear, I didn't!

"**_They're plotting to get rid of you..._**"

Father is, but mother isn't! She wouldn't do such a thing!

"**_She would... See the way she stares at you? She thinks you're a freak..._**"

No! She doesn't! Mother is a good person! A good person!

"**_She wants you out of her life..._**"

"**_She wants you gone..._**"

"**_She wants you... Dead..._**"

"**_She is going to push you down the well..._**"

"**_She will kill you..._**"

"**_She will... Get rid of you..._**"

"**_She hates you..._**"

"**_She'll be the cause of your death..._**"

No! No! No! No! I cover my ears and shake my head fiercely. No! Mother wouldn't do such a thing! She wouldn't! She wouldn't!

"**_She will... Kill you..._**"

It suddenly goes static... Then silence. Bitter sweet silence.

I wish I had more of this silence, instead of hearing the damn voices.


	3. II: To The Beginning

**Bloody Samara**

**Disclaimer:** I don't own The Ring... But I own the video tape!

**Summary: **Samara was an only child... Her parents hated her and so many other people thought she was a monster. Then, she started hearing things... Disturbing things...

**yingOwari:** Sorry I was gone! I had things to catch up on, and I doubt my story Behind Blue Eyes will be finished soon – it was kind of rubbish anyway. Last night and during today I had a strange thought and believed I saw Samara coming out of the television. But then I thought, "Why did she need to kill everyone?"

Thinking about this and after reading SageoWind's story, I got a spark of inspiration. I am a big fan of Sageo's story 'Servants, Obey Thy Masters' and really hope to write like that one day. The idea was from Sageo and you can flame me if you wish. Ta!

**Warning:** This story may contain swearing and death-related scenes; if you do not like swearing or death-related scenes, please press the 'BACK' button on your window. Thank you - yingOwari.

Scenes may change from Samara's to normal point of view.

Oh, my Gawd! I finally got a review!

**rootbeerdemonGoten** - Holy crap! A review! I was gonna delete the story thinking it was too rubbish for anyone's liking... Thank you so much for your review! Chapter Two here is for you! Whee! I wuv youuuu!

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**II: To the Beginning.**

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My life is a bit like a tape. Not like an audio tape, though. A video tape. So, in order for you to understand what I'm going through, or how the whole situation started; we'll have to go back to the infamous beginning of a story, a tape. Get ready.

Pause. Rewind. Play...

You know what's weird? In a few months time, I'm going to be sent out of the house and into the barn to live with the horses. Sadly, I don't know of this yet so I can't reverse the time. It would be good though, to reverse time.

So, tonight I am sitting at the dinner table with my parents - today is my twelth birthday. No-one is here except my mother, father and I. I can hear the chants from my parents saying the words "Happy Birthday to you," about three times, and then a, "Happy Birthday, dear Samara," and then another, "Happy Birthday to you." It's eery and weird. I never really liked that song.

My mother cuts a slice off the cake and puts it onto a plate. Then, she hands the plate to me which I take and nod a thank you. She smiles. She always was a nice person, my mother.

My father, on the other hand, looks at me a grunts. "Happy Birthday, kid." He says. Father was always a grumpy trout. Oh well, I didn't care. I always did love my mother more anyway.

"Well, Samara, what are you planning to do for your birthday?" my mother asks. I think; I don't actually know. While I'm thinking of what to do, a thought hits me. Images. I see images.

I'm thinking; a ring of light in the darkness. Bloodied water. A chair. Flaming teeth going through something I can't guess. Mother staring into the mirror. She's brushing her hair. I can hear my voice, my singing. Mother disappears, along with the mirror. Another mirror. I can see myself in the reflection, walking away. I see my mother looking to where I was and smiling. A nail. A man looking through a window. The ocean from the cliff view. A fly crawling on the screen.

I'm seeing; Something disgusting being pulled from someone's mouth. Something plastic shaking. A well lid closing. A flaming tree. A finger going through the nail. Struggling grubs that turned into people struggling in water. A chair pulling out by a table with a glass of water with a centipede crawling by. A three legged goat limping past a barn door. A horse's eye. The well closing. A box of severed fingers. A flaming tree. The plastic shaking. Mother putting her hair up and turning to stare through the screen. The window, but with no man in it. The chair upside down and spinning. A ladder. Dead horses on a beach, father's horses. My mother jumping off the cliff. The ladder falling. The well closing all the way, showing the ring of light. The ladder falling all the way to the ground. A well in an empty field, and then nothing.

I feel dizzy. I want it to stop. I'm getting a headache.

The images are playing again...

The ring of light in the darkness. Bloodied water. A chair. The flaming teeth. Mother staring into the mirror, brushing her hair...

I clench my eyes close. It continues...

My voice singing. Mother disappears with the mirror. Another mirror. Myself in the reflection, walking away. My mother looking to where I was and smiling. A nail. A man looking through a window. The ocean from the cliff view. A fly crawling on the screen...

Make it stop... Someone make it stop...

Something disgusting being pulled from someone's mouth. Plastic shaking. The well lid closing. A flaming tree. A finger going through the nail. Struggling grubs that turned into people struggling in water. A chair pulling out by a table with a glass of water with a centipede crawling by. A three legged goat limping past a barn door. A horse's eye.

It somehow reminds me of my father's horses...

The well closing. A box of severed fingers. A flaming tree. The plastic shaking. Mother putting her hair up and turning to stare through the screen. The window, but with no man in it. The chair upside down and spinning. A ladder. Dead horses on a beach, father's horses. My mother jumping off the cliff. The ladder falling. The well closing all the way, showing the ring of light. The ladder falling all the way to the ground. A well in an empty field...

It stopped... For now. I take a sigh of relief; mother is looking at me in a conserned way. I give her a weak smile.

"Are you all right, Samara?" she asks, obviously worried. I nod.

My father just snorts and says, "I'm going to check on the horses." He gets up, forces his chair back to the table and walks out, leaving my mother and I alone.

I'm saddened. But I can still see the images...

The ring of light in the darkness.

Bloody water.

A chair.

Flaming teeth going through something.

Mother in a mirror, brushing her hair.

My voice singing in the background.

Mother and the mirror disappears.

Another mirror appears, showing me.

My reflection is backing away from the mirror.

Mother again in her mirror, looking where I was, smiling.

A nail.

A man looking through a window.

A cliff with a view of the ocean.

A fly crawling on the screen.

Something disgusting being pulled out of someone's mouth.

Plastic shaking.

A well lied closing.

A flaming tree.

A finger going through the nail.

Struggling grubs that form into people in water.

A chair being pulled out by a table with a glass of water and a centipede crawling by.

A three legged goat limping by a barn door.

A horse's eye.

The well closing.

A box of severed fingers.

The flaming tree.

The plastic shaking.

Mother putting her hair up and staring through the screen.

The window, but no man in it.

The chair upside down and spinnng.

A ladder.

Dead horses on a beach.

Mother jumping off the cliff.

The ladder falling.

The well closing all the way.

The ring of light.

The ladder falling all the way to the ground.

A well in an empty field.

And then, finally, nothing.

My head is hurting. Everything is spinning. My mother is looking at me as though fearing my head will explode. I wish it would. So then the pain would finally end.

I would have also liked it if my father had just stayed for the rest of my small party. But nooo, he had to be a bastard. Stupid git.

* * *

My head still hurts. I feel dizzy. I want to go to sleep. I sigh gently and walk down the stairs from my room. My vision is blurry. All I can see is a blur, and a small amount of what I'm really seeing: the bottom of the stairs. My father is waiting there for me. He looks angry. Maybe he's on his periods. 

"Well, Samara, you made quite a scene yesterday. Be glad that your mother is so fond of you; because if she wasn't, I swear, I should have the mind to banish you to the barn." He growls.

I just blink; as though not wanting to bother with his grumpiness. Especially not today – for one , I can't bloody see. Secondly, I've got the headache that could basically deafen me.

I'm thinking; the three-legged goat, limping past the barn door.

I hear a small cry of fear; I'm seeing myself in the mirror. I'm seeing my mother smiling in my direction.

My father glares at me and runs to the room in which the screaming is coming from. It was my mother, it turns out.

My father runs back with my fainted mother in his arms, carrying her bridal style.

"I knew you were trouble when you were a baby!" he shrieks.

Putting my mother down, he grabs a pillow and puts it under her head. He looks at me with pure hatred in his eyes.

Those eyes that reflect the trouble that is coming for me.

He raises his hand, it's flat, like people have their hands when they want another person to shake it in greeting. Except, his hand isn't staying still, he's waving it in a swinging motion and then...

SMACK! His hand makes contact with my face. I put a hand to my sore cheek, but say nothing. No tears fall from my eyes.

Nothing.

My eyes are dry; my cheek is sore, but my eyes are dry.

"Now Samara, if you cause any more fucking trouble, I swear to God, I will banish you to that barn!"

Ooh. Jolly. Now I'm going to have to live with the beasts.

Talk about a messed up beginning, especially on my birthday.


	4. III: School?

**Bloody Samara**

_**L**ong time no see_, my lovelies; but yes, I've decided to continue Bloody Samara first before the other two because I've suddenly got a burst of inspiration. Let's just pretend this part of the story happened in the movie but it was never mentioned, or maybe just view it as a fraud information file. Whichever's funner for you all to imagine, really. Thanks for the reviews and support, you all! You're all my motivation for writing these stories! Yay for reviewers!

All right, so the story continues after Samara's birthday... so, we'll pick up on that and skip a week ahead from there; on Richard's second warning. Sadly, I haven't got the symbols I used for the sections from the last chapter, so I'll use another one from now on. Here's the awaited third chapter of Bloody Samara.

**III: ... School?**

I can't believe it.

My father is making me socialise with the other children as my punishment from last week.

As far as I remember, this is how the conversation went:

"Samara," my father growled, still pissed by that incident after my birthday, "we're going to have to sort your attitude out. Your mother and I have assigned you to attend the secondary school on the island so you can get some sociality lessons, and maybe earn a friend." I could hear him mutter, 'If they'd even want you.' under his breath. All I did was stare at him unblinkingly and then turn around and walk off as if he never said his 'decision.'

"I'm not finished with you, yet!" he crows, yanking my arm and turning me around to face him once more. "Now, Samara, you have to promise me that you'll be good in this school, and stop it with the freaky demented only child shit, or so help me, you'll really regret it." He stared at me with an intense hate, not expecting me to deny him because he believed I was scared of him or something. Well, guess what, Richy? I'm not scared of you.

So I only shrugged and pried my arm away from his grasp and walked away, once again ignoring his demands and orders, like I usually do, only hearing the vague echo of his mutterings, "She'll be the death of us..."

Then again, I don't think you can really catagorize it as a 'conversation' because a conversation is a two-way thing, and as far I had recalled, he was the only one doing the talking; or the shouting in this case.

Oh, Richy, you blithering fool, you. Do you really think I'll actually listen to your commands like you're my fucking superior or something, just because you're my 'father?' Guess what, Richy? I no longer think of you as my father, not that you would really give a shit either way, but as plain old Richard. Grumpy old Richard. Richard the shit.

I'm still seeing those fucking images. They really piss me off; I've been having hangover-like headache's all week since they first began. It's currently midnight, and my parents (or rather, my mother and _Richard_) are both asleep, after I had to hear them argue for hours on end about me going to school. In the end, Richard won the argument after convincing my mother that a bit of social activity would do me good. _Set me straight._

If anything; _he_'s the one who needs to be _set straight_. He's the fucking maniac, not me.

Unfortunately, I have to go to the second Hellhole on Earth known as school tomorrow. And it's starting in less than eight hours, so I have to get some sleep now. Oh, the joy of it all!

* * *

I'm currently at 'school.' 

It's absolutely boring here. And they say it was supposed to be enjoyable and fun?

Who the fuck made that shit up? I'm going to hit them with a baseball bat when I find out.

The reason I know about the 'positive traits of education' is because I had watched a television show about it while my parents were out. Richard was out in the barn, looking after the horses, while Mother was out shopping. It was a rather entertaining teleivision show, to be honest. I think it was in a series of a sort. A group of teenagers were walking around the school building and were having lots of fun at the place. False advertising, if you ask me.

I yawn silently, covering my mouth with one hand while I do so. I'm getting really odd looks in my direction. Maybe it's because of the slap Richard gave me that still hasn't faded away; maybe it's because I'm the only one who's really not interested in whatever the teacher's reading; or maybe it's because they're starting to realise that the rumoured psychopath is actually attending their school, and is in their very classroom. Creepy thought, huh?

"Miss Morgan?" yes, Miss Who-is-really-annoying-me-right-now? "Miss Morgan, are you even listening?" Naw, how did you guess? I mean, it's not like I'm staring out the window and completely ignoring everything you might have to say, and I didn't just yawn in utter boredom under twenty seconds ago.

"Hmm?" I answer with disinterest, wishing I was back home right now. The incredibly annoying lady looks at me.

"See me after class, Miss Morgan." She says plainly before turning her attention back to the rest of the class, and a bright smile reappears on her face. Am I just imagining it, or was her expression completely lifeless when she looked at me? Stupid bitch... I ignore this fact, and resume to drawing like I had done ten minutes ago.

* * *

One word: Ew. 

I had just found out that babies fall out from the big hole under a girl's body. How the hell do the babies squeeze out of that small hole; and more importantly, how the hell did they get in there in the first place?

Apparently, when a boy and a girl love each other very much; they perform the 'special hug' and that somehow manages to transmit the baby from the boy and into the girl. One more thing that confuses me:

... Why is the 'special hug' performed naked?

* * *

Right now, I am standing in front of the teacher's desk, waiting for her to say something. From what I've heard, 'seeing teachers after class' means standing by and waiting for them to talk to you. But this braindead bimbo obviously doesn't know that. All she's doing is rummaging around in her drawers, looking for something. 

Finally, she speaks. "Miss Morgan... I'm concerned about what your father has told me," son of a bitch, he told her little scandals about me? "and I believe that he's wrong, but from your impression on your first day, I must say that it's starting to make me convinced that he was right," right? About what? Did he..., "about you being incredibly unsocial." Oh. "But from what's been happening today, and all the glances that have been drawn to you, I can't say I'm surprised about you not wanting to socialise. Just remember; if you have any problems with school or at home, you can tell me, all right?" she finishes her speech with a smile. And it's genuine. Maybe she's not so bad after all, but I'm still not depending on her to be my saviour or anything.

I only nod slowly, and her smile brightens. "I'll see you tomorrow, Samara." She says pleasantly as I walk away.

* * *

Once I arrive at home, Richard approaches me. "So, how did your first day go? Did you stir up any mischief?" he asks, his eyes gleaming in delight for another reason to punish me. I just look at him in the eyes blankly and speak. 

"It went fine. The teacher is going to help me with my 'social problems' and she thinks you're wrong for telling her all those bullshit stories about me." I say to him without blinking once and then once again walk away from him.

I can sense he's not going to be happy about me speaking to him like that; and I know I'm going to be punished for it later. But you know what?

I really don't give a shit.

* * *

Woo! Finally done Chapter Three! Sorry it's so short, but I'm trying to keep the school plotline going for another few chapters at least so it needs to be divided into seperate sections. So, what do you think of that? 

A) Keep the plot going for another two or so chapters; and mention every detail while it happens

or

B) Get back to the original plotline within the next chapter and write the details as memoirs recalled by Samara?

Thanks for being so patient! I wuv you all!

By the way; to the reviewers who had commented:

Hikara Kokoi : As you wish, my master. :-P Thanks! And I did so! Aren't I a good little raven child? Won't you pet me and tell me how good I am for finally updating after months of serious writer's block :-D Again, thanks!

Kyuubi no Kitsune9 : Thank you! I came up with the talking television due to the whole Spirit within the Television theory in The Poltergeist, so I wanted to experiment with that. Yeah; in both of the movies, she seems obsessed with having a mother of her own so it was fun to write about. The sarcasm was just something I thought would be quite a humourous twist to the story because I was fed up of the constant 'Naive little girl is having problems she cannot control' idea. Besides, I think that Samara would be a lot more sarcastic in reality than it was put on.

Kari Cradlegrave : Thank you! Well, since her father hated her in the film, it would make a lot more sense if he was a bastard to her while she was still human and not-so-threatening to mankind. Oh! It's no problem. I'm glad that I helped you, and take my advice: if you want to find the true images on the tape, do not watch Scary Movie 3 because it's just completely off-target, though hilarious as it is.

XoKiSSyKoX : Very much appreciated. Will do! Can you pet me, too, for being so good and finally updating after months of empty promises? Pwetty pwease? _(halo appears innocently over head.)_

xxThisLoVeDiEs2Dayxx : Indeed! Fucking Richard! Heheh, I'm glad it made you laugh, and so, there was chapter three for you to enjoy and probably laugh at. _(wide smile is plastered onto face.)_

As it may have mentioned in my profile, yes, I am a girl. And to the female viewer (some who I _might_ have flirted with... _(bats eyelashes adoringly at reviewers)_), no, I'm not a bisexual, I'm just very, very playful. Besides, if I can't flirt with boys because my boyfriend might get upset, who says I can't flirt with girls? It's all good.

I hope you all liked Samara's current rebellious attitude, because you're going to be seeing it very often from now on. And since I'm still having that spark of inspiration, chances are I'll update very, very soon if not the day after this chapter.

Buh-bye for now!

Raven Kinn.

_(The raven-being with a funny surname)_


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